


A Thing For You

by edibleflowers



Category: Popslash
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-18
Updated: 2012-09-18
Packaged: 2017-11-14 13:47:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/515849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edibleflowers/pseuds/edibleflowers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joey has a thing for Chris.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Thing For You

**Author's Note:**

> Umm. I was in a fluffy-Choey mood. It happens. (The F/M is for a brief scene with Joey and a couple of groupies; it's not detailed.)

Sometimes Joey catches himself watching Chris. It might be on stage, or relaxing in one of their hotel rooms, or in a rare quiet moment zonked out on the big couch in the back of the bus; as long as Chris isn’t looking, Joey’s eyes are drawn to him, as if he's trying to memorize Chris's features in different expressions. He does it a lot more often now that Chris is on his bus. Chris and Lance switched because Lance wanted to be with his boyfriend, and Justin pouted until Chris, rolling his eyes, gave in grumpily.

Joey misses Lance, but he likes this new arrangement, too, wouldn't even dream of complaining. He remembers how close he and Chris used to be, back when the group had just gotten together. They used to go out as a pair to cruise for girls, because they both liked the same kinds of clubs and bars and girls. And then Chris started bonding with Justin, which seemed appropriate given his mental age, and Joey and Lance somehow started spending ninety-five percent of their time together, so Joey didn't really think too much about the distance growing between Chris and himself.

He had missed him, though (as much as you can miss someone who's in your face every day). So he likes this arrangement, even though Chris beats his ass at every two-player PlayStation game, and blasts his weird-ass punk shit, and leaves his dirty socks everywhere.

One afternoon on a long drive through Texas, Lance takes a break and joins them -- he and Justin are sniping at each other about something. Lance's eyebrow goes up as soon as he climbs on the bus. "You're cooking," he accuses Joey.

Joey nods warily at him.

"You never cooked for me." It's a generalization but mostly accurate.

"He eats," Joey shrugs. Lance concedes the point readily -- he has a tendency to subsist on nothing but coffee while they're on the bus -- but still grins at Joey, poking him with a sock-clad toe.

"It's cute."

"What's cute?" Joey asks, genuinely baffled.

Lance only smiles enigmatically. Chris comes in then, complaining loudly about how his Eminem CD has disappeared yet again, and flops down in Joey's lap; Joey automatically puts his arms around Chris's waist to keep him there. Lance's eyebrow goes up again. Joey scowls.

* * *

It's ridiculous, what Lance is suggesting. Joey isn't into guys. Not at all. Not even the least little bit. To prove it, he goes out after the show that night and picks up a girl -- doesn't object when she asks if her friend can come too. They make out in the limo back to the hotel, and the sex is hot and fast and very dirty. They lay in bed and chat for a little while before Joey reluctantly tells them they have to go. He likes them -- Gina with her lustrous dark hair, Cynthia with the sweet smile and dirty mouth -- but they're starfuckers and he knows it.

After he's relinquished them to Lonnie's care, he strips for bed. Thinking about how Gina went down on him while he was kissing Cynthia gets him turned on again. He kicks the sheets back, gripping his hard cock in one hand, and lets the other roam over his chest, down to his balls, while he strokes himself.

His mind wanders, as it's wont to do when he jerks off, and when he finds himself thinking about what it would be like if Chris wandered in and found him like this, he comes rather unexpectedly all over his stomach. He pants, surprised at his body's reaction.

Once he's cleaned up, he closes his eyes and wonders if Lance was maybe on to something.

* * *

The next morning, they're up early for a long jaunt between cities. Chris snarls and snaps at anyone who dares speak to him; Joey is amused to realize he finds the behavior endearing. When they're on their way at last, he flops next to Chris on the couch, settling against him. Chris says nothing. He just puts his arm around Joey's waist and goes on reading his book.

Joey falls asleep on Chris's shoulder, thinking about Chris's mouth and wondering how his kiss would taste.

* * *

When he wakes up, there's an unexpected weight draped over his upper body. He opens his eyes; his breathing goes shallow when he realizes Chris is asleep, heavy and warm against him.

They've all fallen asleep on each other more times than could possibly be counted; Joey's all too familiar with the way JC mumbles in his sleep, the way Justin sleeps slack-mouthed, with an infant's innocence. Joey has a new awareness flavoring this particular experience, though: he barely dares to breathe as Chris makes a drowsy sound and burrows into the hollow of his neck. His lips are smooth on Joey's skin. Joey shivers.

Joey realizes he's shaking a little; also, that he very much wants to kiss Chris. He has no idea how Chris will react, though -- he knows Chris is totally cool; he was the one who encouraged Lance to ask Justin out, after all -- but Joey has become aware that he has no idea if Chris swings that way. Joey would rather be safe than sorry in this case. Also, he thinks, it's really rather uncool to involve Chris in his own sexual identity crisis.

He carefully slips out from under Chris, laying him down on the couch. When Chris is comfortably arranged, Joey smooths his hair back, then stands and goes to see what he can scrounge up for lunch.

While he assembles sandwiches, he thinks about the peaceful look on Chris's face. Chris is rarely at peace; if he's not in full-energy mode, he tends to be sullen and cranky; and, once in a while, he's caught relaxed and smiling. Joey likes that particular mood best, but he likes Chris even at his darkest.

He likes Chris.

He stops, mid-swipe of mayo across bread, and rewinds his thoughts. Yep, he did indeed think just that. Well, it is a logical progression, he supposes; wanting to kiss someone would probably indicate fuzzy feelings towards that person. An idle thought strikes him: would he be thinking about this if Lance hadn't said anything? He makes a mental note to smack Lance at the earliest opportunity.

Chris stumbles out of the back as Joey is arranging the sandwiches on paper plates. To Joey's momentary shock, Chris comes up behind him, slides his arms around Joey's waist, and presses his nose between Joey's shoulderblades.

"Morning, sleepyhead," Joey croaks. He can feel everywhere Chris is touching him. His skin buzzes with it. Chris mumbles something incoherent and shuffles to the side, pouring himself a mug of coffee from the fresh pot.

"You rock," he informs Joey and goes to sit at the table. Joey shrugs.

"Knew you'd want some when you woke up," he says.

"You love me," Chris mumbles into his mug.

Joey barely pauses in his slicing of the sandwiches, though he's proud to note that he doesn't slice his finger along with the food. "Yep," he says easily, and brings the plates over. Chris reaches for one, then pauses suspiciously with the sandwich halfway to his mouth.

"You didn't use mustard?"

"Mayo," Joey says. Chris nods, satisfied, and digs in. Joey thinks to himself that they sound like an old married couple. He kind of likes that.

* * *

He still watches Chris, his gaze careful, circumspect. Every now and then Chris glances back at him, and Joey sticks out his tongue or makes a face or simply turns away, making it as casual as possible. He's pretty much obsessed with the idea of kissing Chris now. He says as much to Lance one night in a hotel bar after they've both had several drinks. Lance chuckles and throws an arm over Joey's shoulders.

"Thought about sucking his cock yet?"

Joey feels himself go red. He has, actually. He thought about it that morning, in the shower, and beat off to the idea. Sex is sex, is what it's coming down to for him. The parts may be different, but the pleasure's the same, and he really likes the idea of his first gay experience being with someone he loves and trusts.

Lance grins at him. "You'll love it. You'll be fantastic at it."

"You think?" Joey isn't as assured as Lance apparently is.

"Sure. You're good at sex, you like it. It's like, your Olympic sport or something." That makes them start giggling and positing a decathlon of sex, and how sex as a professional sport would work, and by the time they meander back upstairs, they're both collapsed on each other, laughing.

* * *

Joey's set himself a time limit: he wants to tell Chris he likes him before the end of the tour. He figures that way he can't chicken out on himself. He gets his opportunity when they're in Memphis; they have a free night before the show there, so they all go out and hit Beale Street, floating from one bar to another in a haze of blues-drenched laughter. Chris begs off while Lance and Justin are matching shots in a strip joint somewhere -- Joey's lost track -- and Joey elects to accompany him back to the hotel.

They're in the limo, sprawled against each other, giggling about JC's fascination with the band that had been jamming in one of the bars, and Joey puts his arm around Chris and draws him close without even really thinking about it. When Chris turns his face up to Joey, his eyes wide and clear and bright, Joey lowers his head and kisses him. It's so simple, natural, and Chris makes a soft sound and curves his hand around into Joey's hair, sending little thrills down Joey's spine.

He pulls back after a few breathless moments, panting and flushed. Chris blinks at him, looking dazed. "Joe?" he says, his voice a whisper.

"Is this. Is this OK?" Joey says, because even though Chris isn't pushing him away, he's still a little scared. Chris's head jerks, a quick sharp nod, and his fingers tangle in the soft short hair at Joey's nape.

"I didn't know you were interested in guys," Chris says.

"Kind of. More, um, interested in you." Joey ducks his head, feeling suddenly shy. "If this is weird--"

"No, no," and Chris's fingers are under Joey's chin, lifting his head so that their eyes can meet. "How long?"

"Um. Since you switched buses?" Joey is mesmerized by the dark gleam in Chris's eyes, the obvious interest showing there.

Chris gives a sudden laugh, leaning into Joey. "All that time, we could have been. Oh, man, Joe. You're priceless."

Joey feels his cheeks flood with heat. "I didn't know you were. I was still trying to figure it out. Shut up, all right?"

"Nope." Chris beams up at him. "But I do think we need to make up for lost time." His fingers twine in Joey's, and Joey thinks his heart is about to burst.

* * *

They tumble into the hotel, chasing each other into an elevator. Because Lonnie is with them, Chris just stands in the corner and squeezes Joey's hand, thumb drawing circles in his palm. Joey is already hard from anticipation and desire bubbling through him, from Chris's proximity, their lazy kisses in the limo, from Chris's thumb doing something that seems to shoot straight to his crotch. When they get off at their floor, Chris darts around Lonnie and out of the elevator, and Joey takes off after him, snorting. Chris is fumbling with the keycard when Joey catches up to him; Joey takes him by the shoulders, presses him back against the door, and kisses him hard. "Want you," he breathes, and Chris mewls into his mouth: "yes, God, Joey, yes."

Inside, Chris locks the door behind them, then takes Joey's hand, leading him over to the couch. Joey is still feeling a little nervous in spite of everything, and he's grateful for Chris's thoughtfulness.

They spend a long time just kissing, until the alcohol's clear from Joey's head and the only thing burning him is the heat of Chris's body pressed to his. Chris's tongue is sweet and hot in his mouth, tracing damp fire over his jaw, his neck; then Chris climbs into his lap and grinds against him, sucking on his collarbone, and Joey thinks he might come in his pants. He gives a silent prayer of thanks when Chris pulls back and stands, wobbly-kneed. "Bed," he says, and, "Jesus, you're hot, Joe."

Joey looks up at Chris, at his glossy mouth and his black eyes, and grins. "So are you." The color rises in Chris's cheeks; Joey likes that, too.

Chris pulls off Joey's shirt as they stumble back to the bed, so Joey catches at the hem of Chris's jersey and yanks it off, and then lets his hand drift down to cup the heated length of Chris's erection, stiff and unyielding against the zipper of his shorts. Chris hisses into Joey's mouth. That's hot too, Joey dimly thinks as Chris arches against him. He really likes Chris's responsiveness, his eagerness.

Chris sits down on the bed and tangles his fingers in Joey's belt loops, pulling him between spread knees. Flushed and aroused, he's gorgeous, and Joey's heart slips in his chest. He's falling, and he likes it. "We don't have to do anything more than what you're ready for," Chris says. "I mean, I want you, Joe, God! Don't think I don't."

Joey laughs and kneels, resting his hands on Chris's knees. "I know. I want to." He does feel a little nervous, but it's more than overwhelmed by the excitement and giddiness and everything, so his fingers barely shake as he pulls Chris's belt open, tugs down the zipper. The bulge of Chris's dick presses out of the parted fly, barely concealed by the fabric of his boxers, and, fascinated, Joey traces the thick line of it, hearing faintly Chris's muted groan: "Please, Joe."

He tugs at Chris's jeans and boxers, so Chris lifts his hips, letting Joey disrobe him. Chris's hands fidget on his thighs, and Joey realizes that he's nervous too, and that's comforting. He takes one of Chris's hands and squeezes it, and with the other, touches Chris, exploring with his fingertips, familiarizing himself with the feel of another dick, so similar and new all at once. When Chris arches into the caress, taking a sharp breath, Joey leans forward and licks at the head and then takes it into his mouth.

He's had enough blowjobs to know what's good and what's bad, so he figures he can't do badly; and if Chris's gasps and whimpers are any indication, then Joey guesses he's doing a pretty good job. One of Chris's hands cards through Joey's hair, grasping and flexing and releasing; the other supports him as he leans back on the bed, giving Joey free and full access. Joey finds it all strangely erotic, the thick curve of dick in his mouth delicious, the bitter-salt taste of precome an aphrodisiac and he's so hard it hurts, but he only wants to make Chris come right now.

Joey doesn't deep-throat, but he knows other tricks, humming against the cockhead deep in his mouth and squeezing the base with a circle of finger and thumb until Chris keens in agony. He loves this, loves the way it's making Chris mindless with pleasure, and he feels nothing but sheer pleasure when Chris groans that he can't hold back anymore, he's coming, Jesus fucking Christ-- Joey's mouth fills with hot liquid, and though he wants to swallow, he finds he can't quite yet. Instead he gropes for the box of tissues on the nightstand and spits into a handful, wiping his mouth.

"Holy shit, Joey," Chris says, pulling at his shoulders. Joey gets up and kneels on the bed, and Chris pushes him back, fumbling with his belt. "Jesus, man, you cannot tell me you've never done that before."

Joey shrugs. "Just been fantasizing about doing it to you."

"You're a fucking natural." Chris grins as his hand pushes into Joey's boxers, and now Joey's the one panting as Chris's hand covers him, squeezes, his palm hot and Joey thinks he's good for about two seconds at best.

"Want you," Chris says, and Joey blinks at him. He didn't just hear that.

"You're serious?" he asks, raising his head to look at Chris.

Chris nods. "In case you didn't realize, Fatone, I've kind of been crushing on you for a while now."

Joey feels like he's been hit by a bulldozer. "Oh," he says, faintly.

"So, uhh. I'd really like you to f-fuck me. You know," Chris finishes, shrugging. "If that's. If you're ready."

"I'm ready," Joey mutters, pushing up into the heat of Chris's fist, and Chris laughs. "I want you something awful, man."

Chris nods, smiling a secret smile, and gets up off the bed, unselfconscious in his nudity as he kneels to rummage through his bag. While he's gone, Joey takes the opportunity to finish taking his clothes off; Chris turns around with a fistful of supplies and his eyes flash. Joey grins and tucks his hands behind his head. "Come on, baby," he urges.

Chris takes a flying leap onto the bed. Fortunately, he misses Joey's dick, and Joey decides not to kill him. Instead, they roll over, Chris's arms wrapped around his shoulders; the friction of Chris's groin against his cock is delightful, heat and coarse hair and the soft dick against his erection, and Chris lets out a cry: "Just do it, man, please."

"You kinda gotta help me out here," Joey says, as Chris hands him a tube of KY Jelly. He pops the lid, raising an eyebrow, and Chris gives him a disdainful glance.

"It's not that different from girls," he points out.

"Yeah, I know." Joey flushes and lubes up his fingers, rubbing the stuff until it's warm and glistening on his skin. He parts Chris's thighs with his other hand, palming his balls and touching the soft space behind them with his fingertips. Adrenaline is mixed with nerves now, and his moist fingers shake a little as they find the muscle, massage it a little -- he notes Chris's sudden gasp and groan with wonder -- and then, one at a time, press in.

Chris's face reflects the most fleeting moment of pain, but Joey's finger sinks in up to the knuckle and Chris does nothing but mewl happily and rock down to meet it. "That's good," he encourages, and, "more," so Joey slides his hand back and adds another finger. He's enraptured by Chris's intense reactions; Chris tells him to twist his fingers together, so he crosses them, turning them inside the dense heat of Chris's body, and Chris pants shallowly with need. Joey doesn't ask when he adds the third finger, but he knows it's good because Chris yelps and pushes back so hard it's almost like he's fucking himself on Joey's hand. Joey could watch this all day, watch Chris rock down on his fingers, but then Chris grasps at Joey's shoulders, chanting, "Need you need you need you," so Joey withdraws his hand, tears a condom open with his teeth, unrolls it hastily over his aching cock.

It's so easy to sink into Chris, it's like coming home. It's a tighter, richer feeling than Joey's used to, and he bites his lip hard to keep from climaxing at the first thrust, but he can feel the tightness in his balls and knows it won't be long as it is. Chris's cock is hard again between them; that's hot, too, feeling the burning line of erection against his belly when he's pressed flush to Chris, knowing that he turned Chris on, that it's because of him Chris is crying out and writhing, head thrashing against the pillow. Chris snakes a hand between them, groping for his cock, and he strokes it in time with Joey's cautious thrusts.

"It's OK, Joe, just go," Chris pleads. He wraps his legs around Joey's waist and suddenly Joey can't keep himself from it. Every movement is a rush, each pumping thrust shocks him into new pleasure. He wants this to last forever, because he thinks he'll never get enough of Chris below him, gazing up at him with shining eyes, or of the way it feels to be buried inside him, pumping heedlessly, knowing Chris is strong enough to take everything he can give.

It seems like forever but it's actually probably only a few minutes before Joey's orgasm spirals up, striking up his spine and making his head spin with the intensity of it. Below him, Chris arches against him and cries something that sounds like his name, and his ejaculate makes several bursts on his chest. Joey sinks down against Chris, still buried in him, and presses his face to Chris's shoulder.

"So good," he breathes when he can speak again.

"I know, baby," Chris whispers. One hand moves gently through Joey's hair, brushing back damp strands glued with sweat to Joey's forehead. Joey wriggles a little, and they both shiver at the fresh sensation.

"Thank you." Joey barely manages to say the words; he doesn't know why he suddenly wants to cry, but Chris just holds him, stroking his back, and Joey relaxes at last with a sigh. "God, Chris."

"Pretty amazing. It's not. It's not usually like that, for me," Chris murmurs.

Joey nuzzles Chris's cheek, curious. "That intense?"

"Yeah." Chris's hand stills at the base of Joey's spine. "It was kinda. Powerful, you know?"

Joey nods. He does. After a little while, Chris rolls them over, and Joey sprawls back while Chris gets up to take a piss. Chris comes back with a washcloth, his own chest clean, and he attends to Joey, who's starting to doze. Joey smiles sleepily up at him. "Thanks, man. You're the best," he mumbles, and means it.

Chris goes crimson. "Shut up." He tosses the cloth in the direction of the bathroom, then climbs back into bed with Joey. They arrange themselves again, Chris tugging Joey atop him, his mouth at Joey's hairline. Joey likes having his face pressed into Chris's neck. It's comfortable. It feels natural.

"So, uhh," Chris says so quietly Joey can barely hear it. "Is this gonna be a regular thing?"

Joey bites his lip before responding. "I hope so. I, umm, I didn't want just a one-night deal."

He feels Chris's sigh, hopes it's one of relief. "Good," Chris says. "Me either. 'Cause I've kinda got this thing for you, Fatone."

Joey grins against Chris's neck. "Mutual."


End file.
